Chapter 37
by jmsutherland
Summary: The hunt for moo begins.


**Chapter XXXVII**

A frantic and thorough search of the house and grounds revealed nothing. Everyone had been involved and nowhere had been neglected: women who could barely walk had climbed into attics; women who could hardly get out of bed had crawled into cellars while the more active had scoured every garden, tree and hedge. Yet neither skin nor bristle of either Blodwyn or Moo was to be found.

When they all realised it was hopeless they trooped back to Madame Fifi's office where Tiffany and Agnes knew they would have to humbly accept whatever punishment anyone might choose for them as it was all their faults. Shamefully, they knew that no one would blame them directly; there were lots of others around to share the guilt, after all. This made them both feel even more guilty, if that were possible. Actually, it turned out there was someone who blamed them both directly, and forcefully.

Standing on Madame Fifi's desk, much to her obvious chagrin, were two pictsies. One of them Tiffany recognised, it was Magnus Og, but the other, who turned out to be called Caber Callum hardly looked like a Nac Mac Feegle at all. He was easily twice the height of Magnus and as broad across the shoulder as Magnus was tall. In addition, he didn't have the normal pictsie physique. In spite of their incredible strength the Nac Mac Feegle were built like sticks, or ants. Callum, by contrast was all rippling muscle and flowing, blonde locks. He almost looked like a species on his own; apart from the glare of almost indescribable fury on his face that made him look virtually identical to Magnus.

"Whaur's the Bairn!?" Magnus demanded barely able to suppress his rage. This was a difficult enough thing for a pictsie at the best of times.

"If she's loast then it's aw yourz fault!"

As if Tiffany didn't know it was solely all her fault. Although Agnes believed it was actually solely all her fault, too.

"She's gone," Tiffany admitted, feeling the tears brimming up again. She'd been weeping solidly for the last hour and didn't know where all that water could be coming from.

"Never mind the greetin," cautioned Magnus, "yer no getting aff wi' this, hen. We'll fun her, dinae you worry aboot that, bit when we dae, yous better say yer sorry."

"Yes, sir," said Tiffany, she thought it was the least they could do.

"And you?" he demanded, glaring at Agnes.

"Oh, yes sir," she said, miserably.

"Right well, we're awa; we'll youz after," said Magnus, and with that they were gone.

There was another brief silence.

"I feel that zis iz our fault…" Madame Fifi began.

"Oh, no, ma'am," interrupted Tiffany and Agnes in unison, "it's all our fault for…"

"Naw, she's right," said Morag and Janet together, "it's oor blame fur…"

"For the moment," said Harry, putting his foot down, "can we forget whose fault it is and concentrate on getting the little girl back?" They all nodded.

"Good. Now, Lance Constable Gioconda and I have to get back to the Yard and I want you two to come with us," he said, pointing at Agnes and Tiffany.

"Yes, sir," they agreed, nodding. Neither of them had been in the habit of calling people "sir" but it seemed to be a very easy habit to pick up.

"In that case, ladies, we shall take our leave," said Harry, clicking his heels and bowing. He noticed that Lucy didn't the same, at the same time. She was a quick learner.

"Au revoir, officers," said Madame Fifi, "I wish you good chance."

Outside in the gardens Lucy pulled Harry aside.

"I'm not going back to the Yard," she said.

"Yes, you are," he insisted, "remember that 'taking orders' thing we talked about?"

"I think it's better if I go after Moo."

"How can you do that?" he wanted to know, "you don't even know what she looks like."

"Yes, I do," she said, arching one eyebrow, "I looked at the picture inside Tiffany's head, didn't you?"

"No," said Harry, "I can't only read thoughts, I can't see pictures."

"You're not a proper vampire, are you?"

"No, thank gods."

"What have they got to do with it?"

"Er, nothing, sorry. Anyway, Ok, so you're going on the hunt?"

"Poor choice of words for a vampire," she scolded, mildly.

"I'll have rather less sass from you in future, Lance Constable," he ordered, "So, you're going to find Moo. The Nac Mac Feegle have a start on you, of course."

"Yes, sir, sorry sir, and yes, they do have a start but not much of one."

"You do realise that they work as a network, don't you? They're not all in the same place: the end of their chain is probably ten miles away by now."

"I'll catch them up," she assured him.

"You can't turn into a lot of bats it the daylight, can you?" he wondered.

"No, I can't do that," she admitted, "but I can run fast, and I can fly at night."

"Very well, Lance Constable," he conceded, "do your duty, and good luck."

"Yes sir," she said, and disappeared as quickly as a Wee Free Man.

He now turned to the witches.

"As for you two," he said, "you follow me."

"Yes, sir," they said, and traipsed miserably after him. This "sir" thing was becoming a bit of a habit.

Before setting out in pursuit Lucy had made a quick detour to the witches' rooms to find something of Moo's. The Nac Mac Feegle already had her scent, of course, but she wasn't going to just follow them; though they were probably going in the right direction, she would soon outpace them. At least that was what she'd thought initially; now she wasn't so sure. For one thing, despite her previously boasted running speed, it had taken her a surprisingly long time to catch up with Magnus and Callum. Those little legs did turn remarkably quickly. The two Nac Mac Feegle had taken her overtaking them in good part and had, in fact, urged her on.

"Gaun yersel, hen!" Magnus had shouted.

"Git intae them, lassie," yelled Callum.

"Will do," she'd called behind her as she sped past. Again, despite their size, it was rather a long time before they were out of sight. Of course, as Harry had pointed out, the Nac Mac Feegle usually didn't operate as individuals, a bit like bees in that way,1 so Magnus and Callum had long since passed on all the necessary information to the next in line –Daft Dugald and Hamish the Bam- by a form of telepathy known as _ag èigheach_ long before they'd reached them. Dugald and Hamish had done the same to the next relay pair, they to the next and so on. The signal was being passed up the line faster even than their blurry little legs could carry them. The message hadn't yet reached the front of the long twisting column, so the head of it wasn't yet moving but, Lucy now realised, the whole thing would be moving long before she reached the front. Her earlier boasting had clearly been a form of what the Tsortians called _superbia_.

In the meantime, after a dour and suffocating walk through the streets, the witches had arrived at Pseudopolis Yard and been dumped in the waiting room, without ceremony, by Captain Mudd who had then gone off grumpily to report the bad news to Commander Carrot. The desk sergeant, a dwarf with wire bows in her beard, had asked if she could get them some biscuits and an incredibly handsome vampire had asked if they would like a cup of tea. They'd thanked them both profusely but they'd both declined both. Even Agnes didn't feel like eating or drinking. Actually, she felt like doing both, but didn't think she deserved it. They didn't know which was stranger: that The Watch seemed to be staffed largely by vampires or that vampires might offer to make you tea.

When she was sure they were alone and that no one was listening Tiffany turned to Agnes:

"You felt it, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," said Agnes.

"Strong, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Agnes

"Horrible, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Agnes.

"I've never felt anything like it, have you?"

"No," said Agnes.

"Have you ever seen so many flies?"

"No," said Agnes.

"Do you actually have anything useful to contribute?" sniffed Tiifany.

"Listen, Aching, don't you get like that with me; you're the one asking all the closed questions. Yes, it's nasty and powerful and I wish I were a thousand miles from wherever it is, but I think that's why we're here."

"And we've lost Moo," said Tiffany, miserably, "we'll have to tell them."

"Don't you think they know? They're vampires, for gods' sakes!"

"They're good vampires, remember? And I don't think they know everything," Tiffany ventured

"Vampires are all the same," said Agnes, who wasn't sure they did either.

Just then Captain Mudd returned.

"Come with me, ladies," he said, brusquely, and led them through several corridors and up three flights of stairs to a door marked "Commander".

Tiffany had heard that the Commander of the Watch was a dwarf but the man sitting behind the desk in front of them must have been at least as tall sitting-down as she was standing up.

"Good afternoon, ladies," said the giant dwarf with close-cropped ginger hair, "we appear to have a small problem."

"No, sir," said Tiffany, accidentally curtsying, "we have a very large problem; a very, very large problem indeed."

"We know," said Carrot.

"Respectfully, sir, I don't think you do."

"Enlighten us then," said Harry, scornfully.

"It's a spirit, an extremely powerful one; a god or a demon…"

Interchangeable to my mind, thought Harry.

"It's behind all the hatred!" Agnes interjected.

Carrot looked at Harry:

"It is as we thought," he said.

"So it would appear, sir," Harry said.

"Is it here now?" Carrot asked.

"No, sir," said Agnes, "but has been here, stirring everything up, and it's coming back."

"Again, much as we feared, isn't it, Captain?"

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed.

"There is another thing," said Tiffany, "the little girl, my ward, she is the key to defeating it."

"That is also the intelligence we have; we have people tracking her down now."

"So, do we," said Tiffany, defiantly.

"Good," said Carrot, "then we are on the same side. To formalise that you are both now seconded to the watch and shall be Acting Constables until further notice, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," they said together and curtsied.

"Watchmen don't curtsy," said Carrot, "they salute."

Tiffany and Agnes looked rather perplexed so Carrot looked to Harry, who demonstrated.

"Longest way up, shortest way down," said Harry.

"Have Sergeant von Humpeding swear them in and find them secure accommodation," Carrot ordered.

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"And you two report here at six o'clock tomorrow to receive your orders, understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Tiffany and Agnes, saluting, correctly.

"Dismissed."

All three of them saluted again and then filed out of the office.

"And hey, let's be careful out there," he added.

Sally had informed them that they would be staying at the Nurses' Home, as they might also be required to serve as Auxiliary Nurses. Everyone knew that a witch rivalled even an Igor in her knowledge of medicine. The only reason that none of them were nurses –or indeed doctors, if such a thing could be imagined- was that they were notoriously bad at taking orders, or even listening to what anyone else thought2. This was the primary reason that Carrot had insisted on their taking the oath, and Sally had duly sworn them in:

"I promise that I shall do my best

To do my duty to the city,

To serve The Patrician,

Help other people

And keep the Civic Law," they'd recited with both palms upraised in the traditional gesture of surrender to higher authority.

Then they'd gone to the hospital to visit Smite, so that Agnes could pass on Damn's regards. After that it was straight to the Nurses' Home where Basalt admitted them and Sally bade them farewell.

"Single beds or double?" asked the governess at reception.

"Don't mind," they said in unison.

They were each issued with a nightdress and led to their room. Once they'd changed out of their day clothes they lay on top of the bed for a while just thinking –it was too hot even to get under the sheet. Once they thought they'd thought about it for long enough they began talking, and that took up the rest of the night.

When they reported for duty in the morning Sergeant von Humpeding took them to the Omnian section known as the Egitto, which they both thought was a marked and very pleasant contrast to the rest of the city in that it was: neat, clean, quiet and orderly.

"Right," said Sally, "what I want you two to do for the next couple of hours is scout about the surrounding streets and see what you can find out."

"About what?" asked Tiffany.

"Anything," Sally replied, "see if you can detect any signs of this spirit you talked about, but also try to discover what the non-Omnian people think and feel about the Omnians. Witches are good at that sort of thing."

Tiffany thought she detected a note of condescension in her tone, but she might have imagined it; it was difficult to tell with vampires as they tended to look down on just about everyone.

"Yes, sergeant," was all she said.

"Good," said Sally, "we'll meet back here at noon."

"How will we know the time, sergeant?" asked Agnes.

Sally just rolled her eyes while Tiffany tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the clock tower.

"Ah, yes, well, I should have spotted that," she apologised.

"Noon," said Sally.

"Yes, sergeant," they chorused, saluting, and then all three went their separate ways.

For the next three hours the two witches wandered around the streets, growing increasingly appalled with each passing minute. Neither of them could detect any direct signs of the malign spirit, only its residue, but what they did find was almost worse. The good citizens of Ankh-Morpork hated the Omnians. They didn't dislike them, they didn't despise them; they hated them, with a passion that bordered on being deranged. And that was its essence; its fury was utterly irrational. Agnes was sure that if she had stopped any passing stranger and asked them what they thought of Omnians she'd have got spitting rage. But if she asked them why they hated Omnians so much she would have got blank incomprehension. These people detested Omninans, more than they hated the bloody flies; they loathed them with an almost murderous ferocity, but they didn't know why.

Eventually Agnes felt the need to give vent to her own feelings. To begin with she made do with making people drop things, initially just whatever they were carrying but later only things that would break or be otherwise ruined –like cakes- by falling to the ground. After a while this wasn't enough and she started to make people trip over their own feet or walk into posts. It was while she was quietly laughing at a particularly nasty man having banged his head by falling down a flight of stairs that she began to wonder if she was not herself beginning to fall under the malign influence of what was making these people hate Omnians in the first place. She decided she'd better make her way back to the rendezvous.

Meanwhile Tiffany was coming to much the same conclusion. She had begun with tripping people up and bloodying their noses by walking into doors but had quickly graduated to starting fights. For no apparent reason a rather unpleasant little man would go up to someone much larger and stronger than himself and punch him in the mouth, with predictable consequences. She was enjoying herself so much that it took her a while to realise how wrong what she was doing was. By the time she decided to head back to the clock tower there were scuffles breaking out all around, but none inside, the Egitto.

They reached the meeting point at almost the same time to find Sally already waiting for them.

"Anything to report?" she asked.

Tiffany spoke to Agnes with a look and Agnes answered with a nod.

"Yes, sergeant," said Tiffany, "and it isn't good."

"Ok," said Sally, "but save it. We have a meeting to go to."

While she led them through The Shades the two witches held onto each other's hands as though their souls depended on it. A place more different from the Egitto it was impossible for them to imagine. It wasn't as though either of them was unfamiliar with danger, and they could both handle themselves in a tight spot, but this was strange territory for them; alien and frightening. Tiffany thought that the way the people looked at them, especially the men, was like they were trying to decide if they would fetch more money in a butcher's shop or a Klatchian slave-market.

Agnes thought the same; she also thought that Tiffany would end up on the meat market while she'd end up on the meat hook. On the other hand she also found that she couldn't detect any of the hatred for Omnians that she'd felt in the more salubrious streets, just generalised hatred for everyone: people in The Shades weren't choosey; they couldn't afford to be. At one point she'd noticed someone she recognised. It was Rescue Annie, one of the women from the Guild of Seamstresses. When they'd been introduced -Annie had been visiting a friend in one of the hospital wards- Agnes had thought her a slight, almost insignificant figure, but if this was her patch then she was clearly the toughest thread in the box, or the sharpest needle, or both. Annie waved and Agnes waved back: rather you than me, she thought; and rather no one than you.

Tiffany was actually oddly relieved when she began to detect the first signs of anti-Omnian feeling –at least it meant they were leaving The Shades- but then she saw the strangest thing. There had been a great deal of graffiti in The Shades, most of it obscene, at least the stuff that wasn't insane, but she'd never before seen a graffito write itself. She stopped, bringing Agnes to a stop with her.

"What is it?" Sally wanted to know.

"What does that mean?" asked Tiffany, pointing at the words: MENE, MENE,TEKEL UPHARSIN.

It would be wrong to say that Sally went pale –her skin was never less white than cotton- but she did the vampire equivalent: all the colour drained from her eyes. Tiffany thought it was rather scary. She didn't answer, just grabbed Tiffany by the arm –rather too hard, Tiffany thought.

"Come on," she said, and led them hurriedly away.

The meeting was being held in one of the back rooms of a large and rather disreputable public house –as if there were any other kind. There the witches were introduced to Kate, a dangerous and disreputable character, and Patrick, perhaps even more dangerous; certainly more louche. Captain Mudd was also present and it was to him that they made their reports. When they had finished Kate was the first to speak:

"It sounds like a disease," she said, unhappily, "and one that even we could catch."

"It's actually more like an epidemic," said Harry, "we're getting reports of the same thing from as far away as Sto Lat and Sto Hellit."

"I didn't realise there were that many Omians on the plains," said Patrick, sounding puzzled.

"There aren't," said Harry, "that's what makes it so mad: they're hating people out there that most of them have never even seen."

"What does 'mene, mene, tekel upharsin' mean?" asked Tiffany, all of a sudden.

In the silence that followed you could have heard a fly break wind. When finally someone answered it was Harry, and in a whisper:

"It might mean the end of the world."

1 Also like bees, and ants, they only had one fertile female, the Kelda being the equivalent of the Queen. The difference with the Nac Mac Feegle was that both the workers and the soldiers were all male.

2 This merely precluded them from being good nurses, of course, not doctors.


End file.
